


All I Really Need to Know I Learned from the Paparazzi

by gaudy_night



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-24
Updated: 2009-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-29 01:48:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30148896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaudy_night/pseuds/gaudy_night
Summary: The paparazzi start following Jim Gordon when news of his relationship with Bruce Wayne gets out.
Relationships: Jim Gordon/Bruce Wayne
Kudos: 8
Collections: BradyGirl_12 DCU Challenges (2009)





	All I Really Need to Know I Learned from the Paparazzi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sandystarr88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandystarr88/gifts), [BradyGirl_12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/gifts).



_Damn the paparazzi_ , Jim Gordon muttered under his breath.

Bruce Wayne had given him fair warning months ago, and he’d listened intently with good reason. If and when their relationship ever became public knowledge, they knew it would cause not only plenty of tongues to wag but also a full-blown media maelstrom. Gordon understood all too well that people, in general, could be hurtful and cruel—even without their meaning to be. He was prepared for _that_. He’d learned long ago he couldn’t change or control others, but he _could_ control himself and his own reactions. He and Bruce had agreed to quietly and patiently endure the inevitable media onslaught until the next tabloid headline came along to steal the spotlight and leave them alone.

The plan was going well thus far, but Gordon hadn’t counted on the persistency of the damned paparazzi. It wasn’t so much that despite the numerous backdoor exits he found, they insisted on dogging his every footstep—he could have handled _that_ —but _God_ , why did they have to be so damned annoying about it? They wanted to know anything and everything about him. Gordon could have saved them all the trouble. In fact, anyone who’d known him long enough could have saved them the trouble as well. Both old friends and acquaintances would have replied, _What you see is what you get._ It was the truth, wasn’t it?

But that wouldn’t do. It was too easy. Not nearly scintillating or provocative enough to put into print. So they asked him the stupidest questions. They asked for his opinion on matters he had absolutely nothing to do with. They wanted his views on world events and the economy, his opinion on national politics, and his quotes on the latest celebrity scandal to hit the fan. They assumed he personally knew every other same-sex couple in Gotham—and the rest of America.

It was utterly ridiculous. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. The honeymoon period.

Truly Gordon tried to ignore the mayhem, but they just kept prodding, prodding, and _prodding_. And when they couldn’t get anything out of him, they talked to his neighborhood dry cleaners and the man who worked the counter at the corner deli. And when they got tired of _that_ , they came back at him with full force. Still, Gordon refused to give them anything. He steeled himself for the inevitable. When the media got upset, they didn’t just pout. They _pounced_.

Their questions took on an impatient, almost insulting slant. He noticed it right away but refused to acknowledge the ugly turn their, ah, _relationship_ had taken. The honeymoon was over. He could have accused the tabloids of presenting a thoroughly misleading picture of his and Bruce’s relationship, but what good would that do?

If truth be told, it wasn’t so much Bruce’s image that was taking a beating. It was _his_. His relationship with Bruce had been a long-time rumor at the precinct. Either out of respect or fear, none of his officers ever let slip their suspicion. But now that it was out in the open, things were a little different. Some couldn’t care less. Others looked positively scandalized. Still, others thought it was amusing. Gordon closed his eyes with a sigh. If he heard one more lewd joke involving handcuffs and ‘taming Bruce Wayne,’ he’d shoot himself. _Damn the paparazzi._

But they weren’t done with him yet.

The paparazzi’s desperate efforts to chip away at him until he was laid bare for the entire world to see were starting to take their toll. Gordon wished he could say it didn’t bother him, but the truth was, they were starting to get to him. They now asked questions about him and Bruce that even he didn’t know the answers to. Oh, he’d wondered the same questions at night in the privacy of his mind, but he was still searching for answers. To have the paparazzi and hence, the world, know his innermost thoughts rattled him so.

The questions all boiled down to this: _What exactly did Bruce Wayne see in Jim Gordon?_

It was a good question. He couldn’t deny that. He’d wondered it himself. Sometimes he felt tempted to turn around and ask _them_ what _they_ thought the notorious billionaire playboy saw in him. It certainly was not his bank account or his property. He smirked at that. It wasn’t his physique. It wasn’t his looks. It wasn’t his position or job title. Truth be told, it was almost disheartening—confounding, really—when he tried to figure it out on his own. Bruce Wayne, not only the most powerful man in Gotham but one could argue, in the country and the world had chosen _him_ of all people.

 _For God’s sake, why?_ He truly did want to know. The question nagged at him more persistently than the pack of photographers and journalists that were surely awaiting him out on the sidewalk below.

 _Jim Gordon, tabloid fodder._ Who’d have thought?

Gordon stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at himself and pondering his life. “Bruce?” he called out.

“Yeah?” the younger man answered from the bedroom. Bruce was lying on the bed reading that morning’s paper.

“Did you know I’m dating a billionaire?”

A brief silence. Then an almost curious “Um, yes?”

“I learned that this past week,” Gordon said in a neutral voice. He heard an amused chuckle coming from the other room.

“You don’t say.”

“Mm-hmm,” he answered.

Bruce asked, the mirth still evident in his voice, “Who told you that?”

“Some photographers. You know, I never thought about that before,” he admitted honestly. Truly he never had before. The ‘Bruce’ he’d come to know intimately and the ‘Bruce Wayne’ the tabloids were forever having a field day over—that the two were one and the same—the thought had never crossed his mind. That is, until recently.

A beat. Then, “Are you, uh, thinking about it now?”

“No,” Gordon quickly replied.

_Silence._

Wayne’s voice spoke once more, this time, a little guardedly, “What else did you learn?”

 _That thanks to you, I’m now officially a political power player in Gotham._ As if everything he’d worked for and earned in the past fifteen years on the police force counted for absolutely nothing. All those commendations for bravery in the line of duty tarnished. Gordon had eventually shrugged _that_ off as well.

“Jim?”

“Nothing.”

Gordon rubbed his eyes in slight frustration. The day hadn’t officially begun, and _they_ were already getting the upper hand over him. _Damn the paparazzi._ He reached to open the cabinet and pull out his shaving equipment, an old-fashioned straight razor his father had given him years ago. He ran the shaving brush under hot water and shook off the excess water. He swirled the brush in shaving cream to create a warm lather. The familiar morning ritual soothed him considerably.

As he applied the lather to his face, he spoke, “You know, there’s a website where people are voting for me. Whether I’m, er, ‘hot’ or not.”

That elicited a hearty laugh from Bruce.

“So far, seventy-three percent think I’m ‘hot.’”

“What about the twenty-seven percent?”

Gordon responded lightly, “Probably your old girlfriends. Bitter conquests.”

A groan. “Jim…”

“I know, I know.” It wasn’t a forbidden topic but always an uncomfortable one for Bruce.

Gordon held the blade up to his face at an angle, and with small and careful strokes, he began shaving. He paused to rinse the blade under warm water. When he looked back up, he saw Bruce’s reflection in the mirror.

“What else did you learn?” the younger man asked quietly, leaning against the doorframe behind Gordon.

Gordon met his eyes in the mirror, the razor still in his hand and droplets of water falling from it. His voice took on a strange quality. “I learned ‘Bruce Wayne’ never stays with any one person for long. That ‘this’ will blow over eventually. That he’ll move on soon enough.”

Everyone seemed to have an input on the relationship. Everyone had commented on it. Many, thankfully, had nothing significant to add, but one or two had levied devastating comments. Gordon was uneasy with everyone knowing or thinking they knew the details about his personal life, but he learned to take it all in stride. Eventually. He couldn’t expect everyone to understand. He was only all too glad Barbara couldn’t be reached for comment. He wasn’t sure how he would have reacted to _that_.

“What’d you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you believe that?”

“No! Of course not!” Gordon sputtered indignantly.

“I should hope not. What else?” Bruce stepped forward to take the razor out of Gordon’s hand. The older man did not protest. “Face forward.” He continued what Gordon had started. “Hmm?”

Gordon relaxed under Bruce’s ministrations. Not flinching, not showing any apprehension at the sharp blade held to his face. The younger man had done this for him many times before. He could trust him. Besides, Bruce seemed to take great pleasure in doing it.

Gordon waited until Bruce stopped to rinse the blade. Then he confessed, “They keep asking me why you’re with me. Why I’m with you. What we see in each other.”

Bruce calmly finished the one side of Gordon’s face. He reached down to rinse the blade once more under the sink. “Turn your head.”

Gordon felt strong, sure hands turning his head a little more to the right and a razor sliding intimately across the planes of his face. He’d never admit it, but he absolutely loved this. Total vulnerability, completely exposed. But only to Bruce. No one else.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” he repeated.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Gordon thought he felt the fingers bracing his jaw tighten their grip minutely. He met Bruce’s eyes directly.

To his credit, Bruce didn’t pretend not to understand. In fact, he looked surprised. “You don’t?”

Gordon admitted, “No, I don’t.”

“Do you want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Tilt your head this way.”

Gordon did so. Bruce held the razor up to the other man’s face once more. He held the blade at a perfect thirty-degree angle. With small strokes, he gently but firmly ran the sharp blade across the sensitive skin, moving it vertically. Toward the grain twice. Against the grain twice. Careful, deliberate, and methodical. After a few strokes, he rinsed the blade under the faucet to remove the stubble and continued until he was finished.

“Done.”

Gordon nodded his approval and splashed cold water on his face. He reached for a towel to pat his face dry.

“Bruce?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you going to answer my question?”

Bruce permitted himself a small, secret smile. “Jim, I think we just did.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 02/24/2009 on LiveJournal and possibly FanFiction.Net.
> 
> Written in response to sandystarr88’s prompt at thck_as_thieves.
> 
> Participated in BradyGirl_12's 2009 DCU Fic/Art Tabloids Challenge.


End file.
